


Seeds of Redemption

by scandalsavage



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Setting, Blow Jobs, First Time, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: After Jason's brief tenure as the Arkham Knight, he tries to make up for his actions by fighting the crime and corruption of Gotham as the Red Hood.On a recon mission to observe Black Mask, Jason runs into one of his old torturers and discovers he's not the only one looking to atone.
Relationships: Bane/Jason Todd
Comments: 29
Kudos: 155
Collections: Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge, Robin Christmas Exchange 2019





	Seeds of Redemption

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Romiress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/gifts).



> Thanks to Walor for the SUPER last minute beta

Gotham winters are unusually harsh for the city’s placement on the globe. When it snows, it’s a blizzard that always takes a few lives with it when it leaves. But mostly, it’s just _icy_. The kind of freezing, can’t-get-warm-standing-in-the-middle-of-a-burning-building, bone deep chill that sticks with you no matter what.

Jason remembers sleeping under piles of garbage just to keep from turning into a human popsicle, shipped off to the morgue. Just another poor, homeless John Doe claimed by the cruel city’s cruelest time of year.

Some of it, though, was the sinister fog of little icicles that floated just high enough to obscure everyone’s vision and cast eerie, ominous shadows in the low light that seems ubiquitous with Gotham, even in the middle of the day.

That miserable fog is even sharper this near the docks. Even in his layers of armor, Jason shrugs his jacket closer.

It doesn’t do anything, but it feels like it does for long enough to trick his brain into thinking he’s just a little warmer.

Tonight, is mostly recon.

His snitch says Black Mask is prepping a shipment of weapons heading for Santa Prisca. While Jason wouldn’t usually care as much about weapons _leaving_ Gotham’s city limits as much as all the other shit going down in the city, this is an opportunity he just can’t resist.

He’s got a bone to pick with Bane. The bastard ran for home a couple years ago with his tail tucked between his legs. Jason doesn’t know what he’s been up to but he’s happy to throw a wrench in whatever plans Bane has that requires a couple shipping containers of guns.

Lying on a rooftop in the freezing cold for hours isn’t ideal, even if Jason’s body wasn’t fucked up six ways from Sunday. It’s only a handful of minutes before his _everything_ aches in protest. His ankle and shoulders are the worst. Even a slight breeze will make them stiffen up. But he largely shrugs it off.

Gotham’s winters are an exercise in pain management for anyone who has ever so much as fractured their arm. But Jason’s tolerance is, to quote Leslie, “medically impossible”.

It’s a shitty return on investment, considering the price he had to pay.

Almost unconsciously, he rolls his shoulders and fidgets his ankle in his boot trying to loosen them up. It hurts, but pain is just an old friend. An old friend he deeply resents and wishes he could kill and leave in ditch even if there’s no denying how comfortable they are with each other.

Regardless, Jason is going to have to get up soon and get his blood pumping a little. Just stepping further in from the edge of the roof and doing a few pushups would help.

As he shifts his weight to do just that, a flicker of movement catches at the corner of his eye.

Someone is slipping into the side door of the warehouse adjacent to Black Mask’s. And that someone is _big_. Not the size Bane was before he left Gotham but large enough to call the villain to mind.

Jason isn’t going to let some goodie-two shoe newbie superhero or juiced up rival thug ruin his plans for Roman _or_ Bane.

He moves like liquid shadow, despite the numerous injuries that would drop better men. The kind he shouldn't be able to just shrug off and keep going. But he does, because he hardly feels them.

The warehouse is unlit and seems abandoned at first glance. The standard stacks of nondescript crates piled in towers of various heights are barely more than slightly darker patches of shadow.

The night vision tech in his helmet is top of the line. With Bruce in hiding (Jason will never believe he's really dead without a corpse to prove it) and Dick and Tim trying to... bring Jason back into the fold, he's got access to all the best gear from before Scarecrow revealed the truth to Gotham. It's still leagues beyond anything else.

Jason squares his shoulders and drives those thoughts from his mind as he switches on the night vision mode and the thermal sensors for good measure. Dwelling on his part in things won't change the past.

No matter how badly he wishes it could change a whole lot of things in his past.

Lost in his own thoughts, Jason has just enough time to acknowledge, internally, that he has let his guard down and that he is, without a doubt an idiot who deserved every blow and fucked up torture Joker and Harley came up with when they had him at their mercy, before he takes a two-by-four angled up to hit the bottom of his skull, just under his hood.

Then the world goes black.

* * *

Life so far has been on unpleasant surprise after another. Each more unbelievable than the last.

The fact that Jason wakes up at all this time is enough to drive a stunned, audible, "huh" from his lips.

Roman Sionis--the Black Mask--stands directly in front of where Jason is haphazardly duck taped to a cheap metal chair. One of those folding ones with the wooden seats.

At least Jason isn't the _biggest_ idiot in the world. There are at least a dozen ways he can get out of this mockery of a restraining method. Not to mention that if Roman was smart, he'd have put a bullet through Jason's jugular before he woke up.

But the man just stands there, impassive in his mask, the sleeves of his expensive button-down, rolled up to his elbows putting thick forearms on display with his hand tucked casually and unconcerned into the pockets of his trousers.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Hood," Sionis starts. "I was worried my men would finish you off before I had the pleasure."

Jason snorts. "Please, _BM_. I've done nothing but wipe the floor with your boys. But I did have something special planned for you. Some nice, cozy one-on-one time. Maybe the fire of an explosion or two in the background for some ambiance. You know, really set the mood. Get you on your knees in front of me. Tell you what a scumbag you are. Then put two in your brainpan. Clean. Professional. But hey, if you want to play the messy way, we can do that too."

Roman's expressions are hidden behind the mask the blank face of the mask so Jason can't tell if the pause is due to surprise, worry, or if the villain is more calculating.

"My, you do like to run your mouth, Red," Roman hums, not sounding at all insulted or put out. “I’m sure it’s a lovely mouth under that ugly hood.”

Jason can’t see his expression, but the words ooze out of Roman’s mouth like oil sludge, slick and black and full of dark, rotten promises. It feels like cold water being poured down his spine. The blatant lust dripping from behind that stupid mask is rank and more terrifying than anything Joker and Harley could have thought up.

He was in their ‘care’ for years and they never stooped to what Roman is suggesting within the first few minutes of their meeting.

“I don’t know, Roman,” Jason says, hoping his bravado is covering the sudden flood of anxiety. “I could be just as scarred up and hideous under my mask as I hear you are under yours. Maybe I don’t have lips under here at all.”

The hit Jason expects doesn’t come. Instead Sionis steps forward, takes one hand out of his pocket to grip what would be the chin of Jason’s helmet and turn his head side to side.

“Don’t worry, baby,” the bastard hums all smug and nasty. “It’s okay if you’re not a looker. Your mouth ain’t the only option. Don’t gotta see your face if we turn ya ‘round.”

Snorting again, Jason inwardly suppresses shudder. Wouldn’t that be the fucking cherry on top his shit sundae of a life. He makes it through years of physical torture and brainwashing, gets out, tries to kill Bruce in some misguided attempt to save Gotham (due to that brainwashing). Then he fights through all that bullshit the Joker burned into his mind, finds some last, tiny, shard of himself amongst the broken, jagged pieces, something he can build on, only to get captured by this two-bit mobster wannabe because of his own infinite stupidity, and get... what, exactly? Molested? Raped?

Fuck that. This conversation has officially taken up passes for Jason’s reserves of patience.

Electing for the subtlest escape method he knows, Jason has already been working at the bindings. Slowly, methodically, using as few small muscle movements as possible.

He’s maybe a minute away from his escape. Should be ok. Unless Black Mask is planning to skip the torture and interrogation part of things and jump straight to the fun bit.

But Jason doesn’t get the chance to find out.

There’s a loud crash from the far corner of the room, followed by pained screams and frightened shouts. Then silence.

The goons standing on the sidelines of his and Roman’s verbal sparring shoot each other what are probably worried looks under their cheap ski masks and knock-off leather BDSM hoods.

No one seems willing to go investigate when Roman nods at them to do just that. They all hesitate until Sionis makes a movement like he’s rolling his eyes, points his gun at one, and shoots him in the thigh.

Eagerly, the rest hop to while their compatriot screams and sobs and bleeds on the floor. He’s going to bleed out if he doesn’t get medical attention soon.

Not that Jason particularly cares. The guy was probably going to die when Jason made his escape anyway. But if Roman did that on purpose, then he’s a better shot than Jason ever gave him credit for.

They don’t really know what’s going on. There are some more shouts, some muffled thuds and some very loud swearing, all from out of sight.

It’s like a damn horror movie or something.

They’re down to their last two guards and Roman seems much less willing to send them off to meet their likely end if whoever is in the warehouse with them decides to come after Black Mask.

Jason doesn’t think it would be Nightwing or Robin. He purposefully doesn’t tell them fuck-all about what he’s working on. They’re still not thrilled that he’s back, let alone that he’s out there killing these bastards.

But if it is them, he’s going to be fucking pissed.

That’s just what he needs. One or both of those bastards finding him tapped to a chair and thinking he got in over his head and they saved his life. Like he can’t handle this job anymore.

If they ever thought he could in the first place.

But the dark silhouette that steps into the light and slams the heads of the final two goons together when they approach, is _much_ too large to be either of them.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Black Mask growls. “I thought you went back to that third world shithole you call a country.”

Even without being entirely sure who their surprise guest is, Jason thinks it is a monumentally stupid idea to start insulting the _one_ man who just took out all of the security.

Then the man speaks. All Jason’s blood turns to ice and he freezes. Doesn’t eve breath.

“You are not mistaken. I have returned to my home. To... fix it and keep it safe from those who would do harm. People like you, Roman Sionis.”

Roman growls and raises his gun. “What are you talking about?”

“You are shipping munitions to Santa Prisca. Arming a cruel and corrupt dictator with weapons that could destroy the fledgling resistance I have built. This I cannot allow.”

Jason imagines that—unless the rumors are true about Roman lacking a face beyond his mask—he and the crime lord are probably sharing a befuddled expression.

Since when does Bane give a shit about protecting innocents? 

To Jason’s, and probably Bane’s surprise, Roman starts laughing.

“Seriously?” He gasps, practically wheezing. Apparently, he finds the situation much more amusing than either Jason or Bane. “Honestly, I thought I was sending this shit to you. But frankly, _el luchador_ , I don’t really give a damn who the buyer is.”

“I cannot allow you to continue endangering my people,” Bane responds, voice a low, rumbling baritone that gives Jason goosebumps for reasons he absolutely refuses to entertain.

Roman fires into the space Bane was just standing and Jason is shocked out of his stupor by how quickly the guy can move for his size.

Then he’s just struck by his size in general.

Bane is a lot smaller than the last time Jason saw him. Back in the bowels of Arkham when the villain made sure that the then Robin (or rather the “once Robin” as Bruce had already replaced him) was intimately acquainted with his monstrous fist. 

And for that matter, since when was Bane this small?

This version of the addict wouldn’t have done half the damage to Jason’s frail, broken, malnourished body the green-veined beast of the past had managed. He’s still huge. But he’s huge for _people,_ not giants.

This guy wouldn’t haunt Jason’s nightmares any worse than the others.

Bane evades Roman’s sporadic spray of bullets. It’s kind of lovely to watch the man move, almost like he’s dancing.

Then, right as he makes his approach to take out Black Mask, Jason jumps in and hits Roman over the head with the chair he was bound to, knocking the fucker out.

Jason wastes no time snatching up Roman’s gun and leveling it at Bane.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

"I am not your enemy, Red Hood," Bane says.

Jason snorts. "You will always be my enemy. More than you know."

The giant man cocks his head.

"Have we met each other before?"

He should reject that notion. He should absolutely say no. Jason should not be giving away even minor personal details. Especially to Bane. Especially to any of the fuckers who helped Joker hurt him.

"Yes," he says instead, unable to resist. There's a small, dark, pathetic part of him that wants to talk about it. That always wants to talk about. Jason knows he shouldn't. People don't want to hear about it. 

Like numbers that get too big, shit that dark goes too far for their brains to process.

Even the normal horrible things that happen... people might feel sorry for him in an academic sense. But everyone is silently tallying their own experiences to see if they can top the person speaking in trauma points. 

It's not worth it to see that calculation going on in their eyes when all he wants is...

Relief. 

"We are much the same, no?" Bane asks, cutting through Jason's thoughts. "We have... common ground? A... common cause. The words are that you kill only evil men. I do the same in my home. It is why I came for Mask. He is supplying the means of my peoples' subjugation. "

Bane takes a tentative step forward, arms stretched wide to show he means no harm.

Tightening his grip on the gun, Jason raises it half an inch to make it clear that he's not letting the giant approach. 

He waits until Bane comes to a complete halt, then snorts. "I don't beat the shit out of starved, tortured teenagers with their hands tied behind their backs."

The words came out in a rush with a hitch on 'tortured' and Jason silently curses that unfulfilled need for someone--anyone--to know.

Bruce knew. Or Jason thinks he did, with the Joker in his head and all. But he's gone now. 

Dick had suggested therapy exactly half of one time. 

Jason had punched him in the face before he could finish the word. He hadn't even meant to hit the guy that time. Dick had just been trying to help and it wasn't older vigilante's fault he didn't know about Harley's sick games and the aftertaste of PTSD they'd left him with at just the thought of any kind of doctor but especially a shrink.

To Jason's surprise, Bane flinches. It's a small motion but obvious. The criminal's brows knit together in what on anyone else Jason would think is regret. 

It is unexpected enough that Jason's outstretched arm dips a little.

He curses to himself internally and corrects his stance. But Bane didn't take advantage of the obvious opening. 

He's staring at Jason with his head tilted forward, eyes as dark and deadly as his voice when he growls, "Como-- how do _you_ know about that?"

The laugh that bubbles out of Jason's throat is maybe a little hysterical. It's definitely not a pleasant, joyful sound. All the pent up resentment--the anger and hate--he still feels towards Bruce, all the stuff that he's still stewing in because they never got the chance to work things out in any way that matters... it's just too much in this moment. 

Even though he knows now that it's just the Joker's manipulation, all that does is make the hurricane of emotions that swirl around inside him more overwhelming, the thoughts in his head more confusing. It's hard to know what’s him and what's years of conditioning at the hands of a couple maniacs. 

In a surge of manic mirth that definitely scratches at the memory of pasty clowns wielding crowbars, Jason drops his arm in favor of bracing both against his knees, holding himself upright while he wheezes for breath between fits of giggles.

Bane watches, mostly stoic but something a little unnerved in his eyes.

"Who are you?" he questions, standing his ground.

"What's the matter?" Jason gasps, reaching up to wipe a tear from his eye before he remembers he still has his helmet on. "You don't recognize me?"

The other man doesn't move, just stands there waiting patiently for Jason to get a hold of himself and explain. 

Abruptly the feverish glee that had overcome him cuts off, leaving him cold and clammy. 

When he straightens there is no sign of the episode. Jason stands stiffly, suddenly feeling tired and old. 

"You want to tell me," Bane prompts like he can read it in Jason's body language. "You should say it, if you think it will help--"

Jason snaps. "What the fuck to do you know about it?" 

Bane considers him for a brief moment, looking him up and down. "I know that a man will hide the thing that is killing him, if he believes it makes him appear weak."

Heat floods into Jason's cheeks and he's grateful it's hidden from his past tormentor under his fancy new face. The sleek red of the hood is a lot easier to stomach than his own skin. 

He _should_ turn around and storm out. Maybe after he puts two between Bane's eyes. But this whole encounter hasn't gone how Jason expected. Bane doesn't seem likely to come after him, something in the villain has definitely shifted. 

So Jason throws caution to the wind and reaches for his helmet. The catches open at his command and soon he's bearing more than his soul to the man who beat the shit out of him years ago while he was little more than a kid tied to a chair. 

Thoughts of how disappointed Bruce would be briefly flash across his mind, but he quickly and viciously stomps down on them. Bruce isn't around anymore. He doesn't get an opinion.

But Bane just stares at him for a long moment. The idea that the bastard might not even recognize him slams home and Jason's cheeks heat.

In this moment he realizes that he _needs_ Bane to recognize him. Something deep inside him is desperate to be known. No one knows. Everyone from there is gone or dead. The people remaining don't know. They don't understand the depths of despair and pain and fear. 

Relief pours into Jason when Bane's eyes settle on the ugly, ruined skin of the Joker's brand on Jason's face and blinks, jaw dropping open a little. Though he is a little surprised when Bane, instead of recoiling the way Jason is used to, steps forward with wide eyes and lifted brows. 

"Pajarito?" Awe colors his tone and it seems almost unconscious when he reaches out towards Jason. 

But Jason _does_ recoil with a pathetic and deeply embarrassing flinch at the sight of that huge fist moving towards his face.

Bane snaps his hand back like he's been burned. "I had thought the clown killed you before his escape..."

It takes Jason a second to find his voice and another to force his heart to stop pounding for long enough to croak out "Don't call me that. And he wouldn't kill his secret weapon."

No matter how many times Jason had begged him to.

"Lo siento, Robin--"

"Don't fucking call me that either," Jason snarls. 

Bane doesn't move for a long moment. But when he does it shocks Jason to see the huge man sink to his knees and bow his head.

"I know that you will not believe me," he starts, voice muffled by how his face is turned away. "But I have thought about my part in your abuse and your death every day since the venom left my veins. I would beg your forgiveness, but I am not deserving of it. So I offer whatever penance you would ask."

Jason blinks. "What?"

"It is a miracle that you live, pajar-- Hood. I had thought atonement was out of reach but here you are. Whatever you require, limb or life, name it and I will give it."

For all of a minute, Jason entertains the notion that Bane is on something. Probably not venom. He at least _looks_ like he isn't on that junk anymore what with being half the beast of a man he'd been a handful of years ago. 

But it doesn't take long for the honesty and sincerity to sink past Jason's naturally suspicious mind and generally pessimistic worldview.

He closes the space between them and presses the cool metal of Roman's gun to the flesh between Bane's eyes. 

"You really gonna let me shoot you? Right now? If that's what I want?"

"You were a child--"

"I was 16," Jason blusters, still defensive about the fact that everyone seems to think he was just a dumb kid. 

"You were a young boy. I should have taken you from your captors and taken them from the world. I should have protected you. Instead I helped them harm you. 

"I... I would not have... but I was held hostage by my own demons. But there is no excuse for my actions. If my life is what you require for justice, I will give it."

Jason's head spins. He's seen firsthand how addiction can fuck a person up and he knows exactly how Venom affects the mind. Bruce made him learn all about it before he was allowed out as Robin.

Part of him wants to shoot Bane anyway. The bastard is right, there's no excuse. So many people knew he was there and left him to rot at the Joker's whims.

But for some reason he can't pull the trigger.

For some reason, the acknowledgement of his experience, the validation that it happened and it wasn't just in his head (a fear he _still--_ no matter how much evidence there is--has gnawing at the edges of his tattered and twisted memory).

Still, he's not just the forgive-and-forget type either. And Jason has no moral qualms about scaring even a reformed villain of Bane's magnitude, just to watch him squirm. Even if there was no way he'd ever follow through on the threats.

He stares down at the big, strong, macho manly man and knows the kind of thing that's sure to freak out a guy like that.

So he slides the gun down Bane's face slowly, using the muzzle to tug the larger man's lower lip down suggestively. 

"Maybe death is too easy, too good for you. Maybe I want something else."

To Jason's surprise, Bane's eyes flicker up from their respectful spot on the floor to Jason's crotch. 

It's wild. Even kneeling, Bane is huge. His head comes up to the top of Jason's rip cage and even though it's not a great distance, seeing Bane looking up at him from beneath his lashes, willingly putting himself at Jason's mercy makes Jason's cock twitch in interest. 

Unfortunately, it happens before Bane's gaze continues up to meet Jason's and the older man definitely notices. 

Distantly, Jason makes a mental note to never trust that a recon only mission will stay a recon only mission and to wear a cup no matter what. 

But the intensity in Bane's brown eyes steals his breath and makes him gulp.

"As I said. I submit to your will." 

The way he says it sends a shiver down Jason's spine. Then the kneeling man shifts awkwardly on his knees, his gaze flicks back to the floor and...

Holy shit. Is _Bane blushing?_

"As I am offering penance, honor demands I confess to you... if your intent is to punish, you... you may wish to choose a different path."

Heat rushes from tips of Jason's ears down his chest as he blushes in turn. 

Is... is Bane saying he _wants_ to--

No. 

Jason knows what he looks like. Just because he can no longer look at his own reflection--can't stand to see that fucking "J" branded into his flesh--doesn't mean he isn't aware of how deformed he is. 

It must be some kind of a trick. Bane is a beast of a man and now that _he_ isn't deformed by the venom, he's a handsome beast of a man. Jason can't image Bane having trouble picking up whatever person he might show interest in. 

Except that Bane won't meet his eyes anymore and it's not the same as the deferential downturn as earlier. It seems a lot more embarrassed. 

Which must be why, when Jason opens his mouth to tell the jackass off, what comes out is a disbelieving "W-What?" that cracks in the middle.

Bane's eyes snap back to his at the sound, even more intense than a moment ago. 

“Pleasuring you would be no punishment,” he says voice deep. Not growly and gravelly like Bruce’s was (is). Bane’s is smooth and dark like chocolate with the pleasant rolling of waves. His eyes promise that pleasure too. He looks at Jason like he’d happily spend hours devoted to his every sinful desire.

With a very loud, very noticeable gulp, Jason takes half a step back. It’s suddenly very hot in the uninsulated warehouse. 

Roman chooses that moment to stir, a low groan splitting the tense silence. 

Shaking his head, Jason takes another step back. With his bluff called, he needs a quick exit. 

He lifts his helmet and turns to go.

“What about Black Mask?” Bane asks from behind him. _Up_ and behind him. The older man must have stood. 

Jason doesn’t dare look back. 

“He’s yours.” The voice modulator removes the strained, quiet way he says it so all that comes out is an even, emotionless mechanical sound. 

And because tonight seems to be marked by saying more than he should, Jason adds, “He’s just a job for me. He’s personal for you. I... get that. Do your thing then get out Gotham.”

Not that he’s just going to trust Bane. 

Jason is absolutely going to check out his story.

* * *

It's all true and Jason is both relieved (because he left Black Mask with Bane and the moment he got into the cold winter air, he felt stupid for it) and annoyed.

He's not sure why exactly he's annoyed. It's good that Bane kicked the addiction that made him a psycho and now he's helping his people with all the ruthless practicality of the Red Hood.

Until the next night, when his patrol takes him down to the docks again to make sure, with his own eyes, that the mess got cleaned up. 

The note pinned to the empty weapons crate is for the Red Hood and it's basically an invitation from Bane to witness the work he's done in Santa Prisca.

Jason snorts and drops it into a literal dumpster fire on his way out of the area. 

But it stays in the back of his mind. Every day for two months, every time it feels like Gotham's walls of tall buildings seems to close in on him, he thinks about the offer. 

It's when Jason finds himself standing in the freezing cold pretending to care about the lecture Dick is giving him about his brutality while Robin stands quietly off to one side frowning, that Jason decides the warmth of a tropical island sounds nice.

He may not _deserve_ a vacation. But maybe he needs one.

Deathstroke doesn't ask any questions when Jason enlists his help to smuggle himself into the country. The mercenary just takes a favor to be cashed in later and Jason trusts him _exactly_ enough to not ask for something stupid.

That's how Jason finds himself, dressed in civvies, standing on a shabby dock in the middle of nowhere on the shores of a country he's never been to, realizing he may not have thought this all the way through. 

At least he's warm.

He gets a map from a small shop near the dock and looks it over, trying to decide where he would set up shop if he was staging a rebellion against, not just the corrupt government, but the venom trade that really runs the place. Bane's probably not hiding in one of the two larger cities and he'd stand out too much in any of the half dozen or so resort areas dotted along the coastline. That just leaves the majority of the island's interior--mountains, hills, valleys and villages--to sift through. 

The problem is that Jason doesn't know the island the way a local would, so all his guesses are the obvious places. 

Frustrated, he crinkles the map, tosses it in a bin, and strides into the nearest bar feeling like a child.

Why did he even come here, anyway?

Really the only thing he knows about Bane is that he was a monster, high on a drug that amplified his rage and aggression; that Jason had been an unfortunate target; that he's clean and trying to do better--to maybe do enough good to make up for the bad.

Still. The way Jason's jaw clicks when he throws back his third tequila shot kind of keeps him from full forgiveness. It didn't do that before Bane broke it and Joker didn't bother to treat it.

He has no way to contact Bane and he's kind of torn between being disappointed and relieved. 

Five shots in, Jason pulls out his burner phone, getting ready to swallow his pride and call Slade for an early pick up. 

A large, heavy hand rests far too gently on his shoulder, stopping him. Jason doesn't have to look up to know who has approached. 

The sigh he takes makes the room spin. "How'd ya ev'n find me?" 

Jason is vaguely aware that he's slurring. But he's also warm and fuzzy enough to not care.

"This is my island. I know when American vigilantes have themselves smuggled onto my shores."

Bane's rumbling voice washes over him like the warm water of a hot spring and Jason is a little too tipsy to restrain the pleasant shiver that starts at the nape of his neck and travels all the way down to his tailbone. 

The larger man's soft chuckle doesn't help at all. Neither does the way Bane's hand slides across his shoulder to settle between his shoulder blades. 

Blushing, Jason shrugs the hand off, but the motion causes him to slip on his stool. Bane catches him with another little huff of laughter.

"Come, niño. Let's get you tucked in so you can sleep it off."

"Not li'l. Jus' li'l to you." Standing makes the drunkenness so much worse. Jason's head swims, the world tilts, and he only just manages to not vomit all over the huge arms holding him upright.

Bane all but carries him out of the bar and settles him into the back seat of a dusty black SUV before crawling in himself. 

He's pulled against a solid slab of warm muscle and giggles at the thought that he's snuggled up to _Bane_ and trusting the villain not to kill him in his sleep. 

Then he passes out to thick fingers combing gently through his hair.

* * *

Jason wakes with a splitting headache and all the shame of the morning after a drunken one-night stand. 

The thought makes him cringe and he stretches and shifts to test his body. He's alone and there's no sign anyone else was in the bed with him at all, let alone that anyone slept there. And the only aches and pains Jason feels are the ones he lives with every day. 

He takes the glass of water and the tablets of what Jason assumes to be aspirin or pain killers without hesitation. If Bane wanted to do something to him, he would have done it already. 

Then he slips from the room and almost runs smack into an unfamiliar man with a rifle across his back.

Every muscle in Jason's body coils on instinct, ready for a fight at a moment's notice. But the man just nods at him and continues on his way. 

Pretty much everyone Jason comes across ignores him or points him in the direction of some unknown destination.

It turns out to be a very large, open kitchen with a long, unfinished wooden table in the middle. 

There is one person in the room. Jason's jaw drops a little, brows creeping up his forehead, and he holds back a laugh at the sight of Bane, towering over the counters and cooktops, in a stained white apron, stirring something thick and creamy in large pot.

It has to be one of the top five most ridiculous things Jason has ever seen with his own two eyes.

"Buenos días," Bane says without turning. "Sit down and I will feed you."

Jason snorts but does as he's told. "Sorry about... last night."

He's not sure what he's apologizing for, only that he definitely should be.

"You did not do anything wrong," Bane responds, dishing out the dense, soupy liquid from the pot into a bowl and setting it in front of Jason.

With tentative sniff, Jason shrugs and digs in. 

It's delicious. Thick and smooth and sweet, a hint of banana and nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla. 

Jason inhales it. He doesn't know if it's the warmth or the spices or what, but it quickly soothes the pounding in his head. 

"So," he says after he's practically licked the bowl clean, to Bane's amusement. "You said you'd show me how your cleaning up the place."

Bane's conspiratorial grin is disconcerting and infectious. 

Jason finds himself smirking back as he follows the one time criminal, current... freedom fighter? Vigilante? to what looks like a well-appointed ops center.

It's no Batcave, of course, but it's impressive.

But his approval of Bane's set up is nothing compared to how surprised and impressed Bane is to find that Jason has done his homework before his impromptu trip. Jason knows the jacket of every player Bane mentions and quite a bit about the infrastructure of Santa Prisca's politics and thriving venom trade. 

The mission that evening, is to wipe out the last stronghold of one of the gangs Bane's group has targeted and tactically whittled down to almost nothing over the last few months. 

He gears up from Bane's armory, still a little surprised the older man is comfortable letting Jason walk around his place armed. 

Then he arrives at the transport and narrows his eyes.

"Where's the rest of your team?" Jason asks, suspicious. 

Bane just smirk at him. "There are only a dozen of them, niño rojo. We will be more than enough."

"Stop calling me a little boy," Jason says, face heating as he climbs into the passenger seat. It doesn't really bother him, which is probably why it sounds so petulant.

Bane doesn't respond to his request as he starts the truck. Just laughs and drives out of the compound.

It's a damn good fight. A couple extra people on their side would have made it easier, but just the two of them made interesting. It takes less than an hour to kill everyone and set charges on the product. 

When they're a safe distance away, Bane stops the truck and they both get out, then press the button.

The explosion shakes the truck even as Jason lowers the tailgate and lifts himself to sit on it, feet swinging in the empty air. Bane fishes a couple beers out of a beat-up ice-chest, pops the caps with his bare hands, and passes one to Jason before leaning his hips against the truck.

That his hip is touching Jason's knee probably doesn't mean anything.

A couple miles away the fire roars and billows up into the atmosphere. It's pretty. And warm. And Jason feels like he's on fire where they touch.

"I had fun," Jason says breaking the comfortable silence.

Bane hums in agreement. "You fight well, niño."

Jason scowls, but any heat he might want the expression to have is currently coloring his cheeks. "You could just call me Red Hood, you know. Or Red, if that's too long. Or Hood."

"Or I could call you a small boy and watch your face turn pink."

Bane is suddenly standing in front of him. Towering over him with dark eyes and pupils blown wide, making Jason feel very much like a small boy. 

He swallows hard and wets his lips, not missing the way Bane's eyes track the slide of his tongue. "Jason," he rasps. "M-my name is-is Jason."

The hand that cups one side of his face is big enough to palm his whole head. But it's so very gentle and the rough pads of the fingers that caress across the thin skin, the callouses on the thumb that swipes across his bottom lip, make Jason's breath catch. 

"Jason," Bane repeats softly, and Jason can't help but think his name has never sounded so... _pretty_ before. "You may call me Antonio."

It's getting really, really warm and Jason is having trouble breathing. Especially when Bane steps closer and Jason parts his legs without thinking about it, to give the giant room. 

"H-how 'bout Tony?" Jason asks with a weak smirk, making a feeble attempt at humor in an effort to regain a little control.

Big fingers grab hold of his chin and tilts Jason's head back further so that their eyes meet. Jason's breathing comes quicker as Bane leans in so that his lips brush against Jason's as he says, "I would prefer not."

Jason's breathless, "O-ok... Antonio," is barely audible but the moment the pass his lips Bane closes the tiny space left between. 

The kiss painfully soft. Bane's--Antonio's hands on his face and at his hip are painfully gentle as he presses their bodies together.

No one has ever, not once in Jason short, tragic life, ever been this careful with him. He's used to being tossed around, kicked while he's down, punched in the face by life and parents and mentors and super villains all the same. 

The closeness forces Jason's back into an arch as Antonio stands over him, licking into his mouth, lips moving slowly but passionately as the kiss deepens. Those big arms and big hands hold him firmly but not too tight. 

When Antonio pulls back, Jason instinctively chases the warmth of those lips.

His eyelids feel heavy already when he manages to for them open to find Bane's hungry gaze. 

He watches, fascinated and terrified as the giant sinks to his knees again, fingers sliding to the front of Jason's jeans.

"If you would allow me," Antonio says, voice thick and hot with want, "I would replace the pain I've caused you with pleasure."

Jason shivers. But the way it's phrased... like it's payment for his prior wrongdoing...

"That's... if... if you're just trying to--"

"I want to... Jason," Antonio says, licking his own lips and popping the button on Jason's jeans with one hand and reaching up to trace over the "J" on Jason's face with the other. "Beauty is at its brightest when enraptured."

Jason's face _burns_ at that compliment and words fail him. So he nods and watches as Antonio frees his cock, already embarrassingly hard. 

Then the kneeling man licks a stripe up the underside and Jason tips forward with a shout, hands flying to Bane's shoulders. 

It's like pleasant lightning travelling through his body. 

Suddenly, as warmth envelops the sensitive head of his dick, making him tremble and gasp already, Jason is alarmingly aware of his inexperience. 

The street, Robin, years held captive and tortured, planning and executing the invasion and occupation of a city... well, none of that ever really left him with time or interest in pursuing sexual or romantic relations. 

He can't believe his first... anything is going to be with _Bane_. 

It doesn't take long. Jason is on edge immediately, shaking like a leaf the moment Antonio sucks him down to the root. The older man moves so fluidly, so gracefully it's almost mesmerizing. He makes sure Jason's cock is dripping with his spit, hollow his cheeks, flexes his tongue in a massaging motion all along the length. 

Then he gives the barest scratch of teeth and Jason come with a shout and no warning.

Antonio purrs around Jason, sinks all the way down, and lets Jason spill down his throat as he swallows.

Breath ragged and shivering like the Gotham winter has followed him to this tropical paradise, Jason doesn't argue or object when he wrapped up in strong arms and tucked against Antonio's side for the drive back to the compound. 

"I am glad you came here, Jason," the older man says, tightening the arm he has around Jason's shoulders. 

And Jason can't believe it but he is too. 

He's already distantly planning to contact Slade and tell him to delay his pick up.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo.... there may end up being another part to this. These two ended up a lot cuter than I expected and I kind of want to see them bone :D


End file.
